


Refuge

by cher



Category: Northern Exposure
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13042992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: Chris is having a quiet afternoon, but then Joel.





	Refuge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladygray99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygray99/gifts).



> An extra treat for Ladygray99, with apologies that I couldn't make the OT3 of your heart work. 
> 
> With thanks to AlexSeanchai for beta assistance.

Chris is spending a quiet afternoon whittling down sticks to a point and carefully saving the shavings. They'll make good tinder later. He's pretty deep into the zen of it, the soft sharp noise of his knife, the scent of resin and sawdust, the whisper of the chips falling free, the scrape and clink as he lays aside and takes up the lengths of wood. It's good for the mind; quiet, sustained time alone. It's an excellent way to spend a few hours away from the cold, and he appreciates it deeply.

Still, when there's a sharp knock on the side of his trailer, he's immediately glad. That particular impact of knuckle on tin is unmistakable, and it's been a while.

When he opens the door, still brushing sawdust off his jeans, he smiles widely. It'd be hard not to; Joel's persistent refusal to admit he's actually pretty acclimated to Alaska is a constant source of amusement to Chris. The earmuffs especially are endearing; it's cold, sure, but not earmuff-cold.

"Hey, Joel, good to see you, man."

Joel, of course, is already talking a mile a minute as he darts into Chris' trailer and slams the door behind himself. "The day I have had you would not believe!"

And there go Joel's hands, flying up around his face to gesture wildly. He is the most entertaining thing to happen to Chris in flat-out years.

"Three patients in a row with boils on their backsides, and—in contravention of all previously observed patient behavior—they all told each other this in the waiting room, and now half the town thinks that boils are communicable and there's a plague. If I have to look at one more backside today, I may actually never recover."

Joel and his energy are a delight to see. He's always moving, managing a quick back and forth pace even in the trailer's limited floor space. Chris sits back down with his whittling and enjoys the show.

"They followed me home! Clinic hours were over, so I locked up, and I told Marilyn to hand out a pamphlet on the actual medical science of boils—which are not contagious, by the way, because after today I am done assuming that anyone in this town knows anything at all—and I went home to not have to think about boils any more. And then! First there was Ed—who, never, ever knocks—and then once I'd got him to put his pants back on and sent him on his way, there was a line. An actually, honest-to-God line outside my front door, full of people just waiting to drop their pants."

Joel—still wearing the earmuffs, it is ridiculously endearing, really—looks genuinely alarmed, so Chris manages not to make the obvious joke. It is a struggle, but Chris masters himself as a man ought to when his brother is suffering. Hilariously suffering.

"So then, of course, I go out and I tell them to go home, I tell them that they can't catch boils and to make an appointment with Marilyn if they are genuinely worried and have some actual symptoms. You know, like sensible people who don't show up on someone's doorstop because of a rumor.

"But they kept coming for me, the whole shambling line of them. It was like… like…some kind of zombie apocalypse if the zombies are all frat boys who keep mooning people."

Chris can't help but snicker. A man can only master himself so much.

"So I jumped in the truck and I ran away, because there is only so much I am prepared to put up with, and a pants-less mob is so far past it I can't even believe I have to say it."

Chris tilts his head, about to offer his condolences on Joel's day, but stops, because the Joel Show is still running. He's peeking out one of the windows, now, keeping his head low as if he expects the 'mob' to be right outside.

"If they follow me here, Chris, you've got to hide me. I cannot. Take. Any. More. Asses!"

He turns, hands in his hair as he stares imploringly at Chris. "It's not just the asses, either. I now have to walk around with the knowledge that Holling wears tiny red jocks, and Ed goes commando, and the guy that runs the bait shop likes thongs even in this weather, and I should be worried about patient confidentiality but why worry about _that_ when none of _them_ seem to care who's seen their bare backsides!"

Chris pauses a moment to see if he's really finished now, and he seems to be just trying to catch his breath. "Well, if you're interested, and in the interest of fairness, you know I'm a boxers man myself. Picasso's _La Lecture_ today; I felt like a little color was in order this morning. Pretty sure my ass is boil-free, though if you feel the need to check…" He waits to see if this will set Joel off again, which—if he's honest about it—he sort of wants to happen.

Joel just groans and flops backward onto Chris' bed, and Chris feels a quiet, happy little thrill that Joel, often so formal and prissy, is comfortable in Chris' space.

"Beer," he begs, reaching a hand out blindly. "Beer, please, I dare not go to the Brick."

Chris grins and gets up to fish out a can for each of them. There is nothing Chris loves more than when he catches Joel in one of his playful moods, and if he gets a few beers into him this is going to be an excellent afternoon. Maybe he can even talk Joel into staying the night, which might not be that difficult. He's come to Chris for refuge, and that warms Chris' heart more than he can quite explain to himself.

"One beer. More to follow should you need to blur your day a little further."

Joel groaned, theatrically. “Just, no more asses.”

Taming skittish Jewish doctors is harder than one might surmise, but it is completely and totally worth it.


End file.
